Windmill House, a modest broad-eaved, slant-gabled Tudor building, stone below, brick and black oak above, the whole roofed with Colleyweston slate-slabs which time had lichened1 to dark-green velvet2, surveys the Rutland hamlet of Little Overdine from the brow of Little Overdine Hill. Beyond its walled gates the white road switches down between two files of red cottages, past the Norman tower of Little Overdine Church, toward Screever Castle and the distant Screever Vale. Behind it and about it the shires sweep sheer fields of ridge-and-furrow to the far and the clear horizons whither--all winter--high-mettled riders and high-mettled horses pour at a gallop4 after the pouring hounds.
But now, all about Windmill House, the ridge-and-furrows stood knee-deep in hay; and hounds pattered mute at early morning exercise along the white road; and the high-mettled horses grazed leisurely5 in the shade of the hawthorn6 hedges; and, in every covert7 from Lomondham Ruffs to Highborough Gorse the red vixens suckled unmolested. For now, it was spring in Rutland--spring in the little county of the big-bosoming pastures and the big-bosomed women--spring, too, in the heart of Ronald Cavendish!
Yet, for him, spring held its fear. "Your wife will be all right," Dr. Hartley had assured. "Everything's going splendidly. Some time this evening, I expect. About six o'clock if we're lucky. Why don't you go out for a ride?"
And Aliette, smiling up at him through the increasing pangs9, had said almost the same thing: "Go away, man. Please go away."
As he went from her, out of the high cretonne-bright room down the blue-carpeted stairs into a hall fragrant10 with white lilac, apprehension11 tightened12 its grip on Ronnie. Suppose Hartley had lied to him--suppose Hartley had made a mistake--suppose Aliette, his Aliette, were--were not to "get over things"?
"But that's ridiculous," he said to himself, "quite ridiculous. Alie's so strong. And besides, after all we've been through together, that just couldn't happen."
He wandered into the low-ceiled library, picked a book at random13, and sat down to read. But the words of the book conveyed no meaning to his brain. His brain was upstairs--with Alie. Kate came in to remind him of lunch. He said to her, speaking softly as though he were in a sick-room: "Oh, bring me something in here, will you?"
Kate brought some sandwiches, and a whisky-decanter. He ate a sandwich, and drank a stiff peg14. Then he crept quietly up the wide staircase and listened outside Alie's door. But the closed mahogany let through no sound; and after a little while he tiptoed downstairs again.
"If only," he thought, "it were all over. Safely over!" His heart ached for the woman he loved, for the pangs which she must bear alone. Almost, he hated the unborn cause of her sufferings. What need had he and Alie of children? Was not their love for one another all-sufficing? Had they not won enough from life already? Why tempt16 Providence17 with yet another hazard?
Suppose--suppose Alie were to die?
Fretfully Ronnie wandered back to the library; fretfully he flung his long length into a big saddle-bag chair. But he could not rest in the chair. The Wixton imagination tore and tore at his brain. Windmill House, last of Julia Cavendish's Little Overdine properties; Windmill House, where his mother had honeymooned20 with his father; Windmill House, whither he had brought Aliette for sanctuary21 while the law was separating her from Hector--seemed sanctuary no longer. Death and life hovered22 about the place, each contentious23 for mastery.
He looked at the Chippendale clock on the dark oak mantelpiece. The clock-hands pointed24 two. "Another four hours," he thought. "Another four eternities!"
How the minutes dragged as one watched them! How cruel, how desperately25 cruel was time!
He looked out of the window, through the shining lattices to a shining garden. Yesterday's gale26 no longer blew. It had pelted27 all morning; and the tennis-lawn still glinted with raindrops. Thrushes hopped28 on it, and blackbirds. Through the open pane29 in the lattices, from under the eaves of the house, came faint eager twitterings. Out of doors, perhaps, one would feel more hopeful, less--less infernally jumpy.
Ronnie, closing the library door behind him, stole quietly across the square hall, and picked an old tweed cap from its peg in the cloakroom, an ashplant from its corner in the porch. The front door of Windmill House stood open. Through it he could see the flagstone path, bright either side with vari-colored primulas; and at the end of the flags, high-hung between brown stone walls, the wrought-iron gates that gave on to the highroad.
For a long time, hands in his pockets, the ashplant dangling30 by its crook31 from his forearm, Aliette Cavendish's husband stood ruminant under the sloped porch. For a long time his memory, apprehension-prompted, conjured32 up the past months.
He recollected33 how, by the sheerest luck, Windmill House had fallen tenantless34 just when they most needed a refuge from London; how, at first sight of the place, Alie, a white-cheeked pathetic Alie, nerve-wracked and listless, had brightened to interest; and how, as autumn deepened to winter, she had made the Tudor house a veritable home. He recollected himself, Friday after Friday, driving his new car down from London; finding her, week after week, braver, healthier, better and better equipped for the ordeal35 to be faced. He recollected their joyous36 Christmas together--and the black days which had followed Christmas--the days when "the case" loomed37 near and nearer, frightening her anew with the dread38 of "those awful newspapers."
Luckily, he had been able to keep most of "those awful newspapers" from her; so that she had seen only three reports of "The Hanging Prosecutor's Divorce-Suit."
Ronnie remembered, standing39 there motionless in the gabled doorway40, how--each helping41 each through the difficult days--they had made light of that trouble, telling one another that it was "like having a tooth out; soon over!" Nevertheless, the memory still ached at times--as a broken bone aches to the cold long after the cure of the actual fracture.
And, "I wonder," thought Ronald Cavendish, lover, "whether the people who make their livings by it, the writing-folk, know how much the written word can hurt? I wonder if Julia knew, when she wrote 'Man's Law.'"
He began to think of Julia, tenderly, as the imaginative think of the dead. Julia would be glad to know that the purpose of her book had been accomplished42 before its publication; that, published, it would contain no hurt. Julia, chivalrous43, would not wish to injure a man who--at the pinch of things--had behaved chivalrously44.
For that in the end Hector Brunton had behaved well, even his enemy admitted. Had it not been for Brunton, Brunton with his tremendous influence, the six months between the granting of the divorce-decree and the making of that decree absolute would never have been shortened to three. Had it not been for Brunton, not even Sir Peter Wilberforce could have succeeded in setting Aliette free to marry her lover before her lover's child was born to her.
And on that, vividly45, Ronnie's memory conjured up the scene of three days ago: he and she, Roberts the chauffeur46 for witness, being legally married in the dingy47 registrar's office of the near-by townlet. Driving back to Windmill House, they had laughed together--a little cynically--at the formality. Yet underneath48 their laughter had been tears, tears of gratitude49 to the kindly50 Fates.
"Man," Aliette had smiled, "it feels so--so funny not to be an outcast any more."
2
Ponto's sleek51 head nuzzling his knees disturbed Ronnie's musing52. He took his hands out of his pockets and began fondling the dog's ears. But Ponto wanted his mistress; restlessly he tried to push his way into the house. His slitty eyes were a dumb miserable53 question; his great stern stood out, rigid54 as a pointer's, from his huge body.
"Down, will you?" whispered Ronnie. "Down--you panicky old devil."
The black-and-white hound, still protesting, squatted55 on his haunches; rose up again; and began to pad restlessly up and down the flagstones. Every now and then he came sniffing56 toward the porch.
"She's all right, Ponto," Ronnie kept on saying. "She's quite all right, old man." And somehow, soothing57 the animal, he succeeded in soothing himself. What a fool he was to worry! Children were born every day, every hour, every minute. And Alie was so strong. Besides, Alie wanted a child; she wanted a child more than anything else in the world.
After a while Ponto ceased his padding, and subsided--still dubious--at his master's feet. After a while Ronnie, consulting his watch, saw that it was nearly three o'clock.
"Three more hours," he thought; "three more hours of suspense58." He wanted to go back into the house, to wait outside Alie's door. But instinct, and her last words, restrained him. One could do no good by one's presence; one could only hinder, flurry the nurse and the doctor at their work.
Slowly, the great dog at his heels, Ronnie wandered down the flagstones to the gate. Looking back, the house showed restful, a home of safety under blue spring skies. The laburnums made curtains of yellow for its latticed windows; the lilacs were cones59 of white and mauve to its sloping eaves. Surely not death but life hovered over that lichened roof, over those high stone chimney-stacks!
And life was good--good. Life had given to him, Ronald Cavendish, every fine thing of a man's wishing; love, victory over his one-time enemy, money, success in his profession. For him, life had been like some old story-book; a story-book that ended happily.
But with that thought apprehension gripped him again. Life, perhaps, had given him too much. Fate, perhaps--even now--meant to snatch the cup of happiness from his lips.
He looked up at Aliette's window. The silk curtains were drawn60; and imagination shuddered61 at the task of visioning her behind them. She was in pain, his Aliette, the one being in the world who made life glorious to him. She was in pain. In danger. And he, her husband, could not help.
Slowly, unable longer to bear the sight of those drawn curtains, Ronnie--the unhappy dog in his wake--turned away; slowly, the pair began to wander about the gardens, round the house and round again, through the shrubberies, past the garage and the stables, across the tennis-lawn, up and down the rose-pergola. And, "I can't stand this," thought Ronald Cavendish; "I can't stand this another minute."
It seemed to him, in his agony, as though life must be planning revenge on him; as though the ultimate penalty were now to be exacted. Alie would die in child-birth; and all they had won together be lost eternally.
Vainly, he strove to curb62 his imagination. Vainly he said to himself: "It can't happen. It simply can't happen." Vainly he wished that Alie had accepted her mother's offer to join them for their wedding-day. One was so lonely, so infernally lonely. If only Mollie and James hadn't been on their honeymoon19! If only Julia were alive! But Julia was dead, and James--selfish beast!--enjoying himself, and Aliette's parents waiting for a telegram.
He looked at his watch again. Barely half-past three yet! And Hartley had said, "Six o'clock." His hand, as he put the watch back in his pocket, shook like an apple-tree-spur in a spring gale. He could feel his brow damp with sweat under the cap-peak. Restlessly he resumed his tramp; restlessly the dog followed him; round the house and round again--till at last, to Ponto's delight, his master made his way out of the gardens, through the stables, to the gate of the paddock.
3
The paddock, a square two-acre of trampled63 grasses fenced with the high white of blossoming hawthorn, shimmered64 in the afternoon sunshine; and at far end of it, as he opened the gate, Ronnie saw Miracle. At the click of the gate-latch, the big thoroughbred, golden as a guinea to the rich light, lifted his head from the fragrant pasture; scrutinized65 his visitors; and with a whinny of delight came cantering toward them. Ten yards away, he stopped--his neck arched, his eyes wide in speculation66. Then, pace by balancing pace, muzzle67 outstretched, he came on; snuffled down at the dog; snuffled up at the man.
Tactfully as Aliette's self Ronnie gentled the horse, caressing68 the smooth muzzle, the sleek skin under the branches of the jaws69. Somehow, it seemed as though Miracle were aware of the fret18 in him, of the fret in Ponto; as though Miracle, following the pair of them up and down the paddock, were trying to say: "It's all right. It's quite all right."
And Ronnie thought, looking at Miracle's great shoulders, at the slope of his pasterns and the sinuous70 strength of his hocks: "You carried her over Parson's Brook71, old boy. You'll carry her again, next winter, as you carried me this, across a stiller country than Mid-Oxfordshire, across the ridge-and-furrow and the cut-and-laids and the timber of the shires."
Miracle followed the pair of them back to the gate, and stood looking over it while they made their way to the stables. The big blue clock under the old-fashioned hunting wind-vane (a metal man on a metal horse capping on a metal hound) showed ten minutes to four. In the center of the deserted72 courtyard--ominous--stood Hartley's car. Toward it, through the archway, came the doctor himself.
"On the contrary." Hartley, a big-shouldered fellow who rode like a thruster and looked more like a vet3. than a county practitioner74, laughed under his large mustache. "On the contrary. Everything's going splendidly. If only we could get you husbands out of the way at these times----"
"How much longer?" interrupted Ronnie.
"Two hours at the least." The doctor abstracted a small package from the dickey of his car. "We can't rush our fences at this game, you know."
"Is my wife in pain?"
"Of course she's in pain."
"Bad pain?"
"Good Lord, no. Nothing out of the ordinary. She's a Trojan, is your missus, Cavendish." And Hartley, stuffing the package into a capacious pocket, added. "As a matter of fact, it seems to me that you're looking a jolly sight worse than she is. Why don't you take my advice, and get on a gee-gee for an hour or so? We don't want you kicking about the house, I can tell you."
The doctor hurried off through the archway toward the house, leaving Ronnie a little ashamed of himself. Hartley, for all his coarseness, knew his job. He began to wonder whether it wouldn't be a sound scheme to follow Hartley's advice, and go out for a ride. Driver, the groom75, had asked for the Saturday afternoon off; but he could easily saddle up one of the hacks76 in the loose-boxes, either the old brown mare77, Daisy, or the little bay horse which he had bought--a week since--as a surprise for Aliette on her convalescence78.
Ronnie, Ponto still at his heels, made his way into the unlocked harness-room; picked a saddle from its rack, a snaffle bridle79 from its peg; and emerged again into the courtyard.
"Which shall it be?" he thought, "Daisy or the bay?" And hesitating in his choice, it came to him, quite suddenly, that if he really were going to ride--if, despite the apprehensions80 which had once more started nagging81 at his mind, he really meant to disregard the pull of that invisible halter which bound him to the house where Aliette lay in pain--then the only horse possible for him to ride was Miracle.
Why not? The thoroughbred had only been "lying out" a week. An hour's exercise wouldn't do him any harm. He'd enjoy, perhaps, a little canter across the grass to Spaxton's Covert.
Wonderingly, Ponto followed his master back to the paddock. Miracle still had his head across the gate; nor, when he saw the saddle over Ronnie's right arm, the bridle in his left hand, did he sulk away. The big golden-gleaming horse seemed rather pleased than sulky to feel the brow-band slipped up his forehead, the snaffle-bar slipped into his mouth, the throat-lash of the bridle buckled82 loose, and the saddle-girths gripping him. He tossed at his bit and hogged83 his back in the old playful way as Ronnie--the ashplant in his left hand--put an unhorsemanly-shod foot into the iron and swung an unhorsemanly-trousered leg over the cantle.
As the three of them, horse and dog and man, set off across the paddock, Ronnie knew the impulse to turn back, to off-saddle. It seemed heartless that he should ride out across green fields while Alie--had not Hartley himself admitted?--was in pain. But half-way across the two-acre the impulse weakened; and by the time they made the far gate it had altogether died away.
He unlatched the gate with his ashplant, and Miracle nipped through. Before them, up-and-down emerald between rolling grasses, lay the bridle-path to Spaxton's Covert. The horse, at a touch of the rein84, broke from walk to trot85, from trot to a springy canter that traversed the ridge-and-furrow without an effort. Southerly breezes blew across the sixty-acre pasture. Two hares, mating, scurried86 from their approach. The great horned beasts, white-faced Herefords and black Welsh steers87, watched them incuriously till--catching sight of Ponto--they, too, moved lumbering88 away.
At the crest89, Ronnie drew rein. Here, they were on the very spine90 of the county. Looking back, he could still see the high chimney-stacks and the stable-clock of Windmill House: but already Little Overdine had tucked itself away into a cup of the vale; so that only its church-tower and the motionless sails of the windmill betrayed it from the humpy fields through which Little Overdine Brook serpentined91 like a gigantic green caterpillar92.
Mapwise, from that high eminence93, the shires outspread their panorama94, pasture on rolling pasture, with here a bright square of young green cornland, here a dark blob of covert, here a blue hill and there a vale, here a great house nestling among trees, there a red farm, there a church, and there a white railway-gate, but scarce a factory chimney from horizon to horizon.
Not for nothing do men hark back to the place of their father's birth! To Ronnie, ever since he had first set eyes on this panorama, it had been home. Already he knew its every landmark95; already it had power over him, power to soothe96, power to set him a-dream.
And to-day, more than ever before, the shires set their spell upon him, so that he imagined--sitting there motionless on the motionless horse--a son soon to be born, a son who would esteem97 the Tudor house on the brow of Little Overdine Hill, and all this wide champaign, these counties which were neither pretty-pretty as the garden South, nor rocked and sea-girt as the West, nor grandly cragged and forested as the North, but just--so Ronnie put it to himself that afternoon--just England, the old England of bold horses and bold hounds and bolder men.
4
The three, horse and dog and man, set off again. Down from the crest they came at a canter, through fields ridged yellow with buttercups, where the young lambs frisked bleating98 from their path, by blazing hawthorn-hedges a-chatter with startled finches, through the pasture-gates, to the little wooden bridge over the Brook. Now, on a slope above them, they saw the bright new green of Spaxton's Covert; five acres of blessed woodland whither, on some dark November afternoon, a dog-fox hard-pressed from Lomondham Ruffs or Highborough Gorse might, if only scent99 failed, perchance make safety from the beaten pack.
But to-day the dog-fox feared neither pack nor horseman. They saw him, a red shape at covert's edge; saw him grin at them from fifty yards' range, and lope disdainfully back through the wooden palings to his mate!
Ronnie, laughing at the incident, halted Miracle, dismounted, and called the rabbit-eager Ponto to heel. The half-hour or so of open air had steadied his nerves. Lighting100 a cigarette, looking at his watch, he saw that his hands no longer trembled. "Alie's all right," he said to himself. "Everything's all right."
He mounted again, and headed away from the covert toward Lomondham. From Lomondham to Little Overdine by the highroad is four good miles. "That'll get me home comfortably by five," thought Ronnie. But just before he made the Lomondham road, fear gripped him again. Suddenly some instinct, an instinct so strong that he dared not even fight against it, warned him that Alie was in danger.
And with fear came self-reproach. He had been away a whole hour, a whole hour of life or death for the woman he loved. He had been enjoying himself, enjoying himself, dreaming of a son when perhaps--perhaps----
Miracle, trotting101 at ease, felt himself abruptly102 gathered together, felt the ring of the snaffle hard against his off cheek, felt the grass at roadside under his hoofs103, broke to a canter and from a canter to a gallop. Ponto, caught unawares fifty yards in rear, heard man and horse disappear round a bend in the hawthorn hedges; Ponto, quickening his lollop round the bend, saw the pair streak104 hell-for-leather up the hill; Ponto, laboring105 desperately not to be left behind, saw them halt for a moment at the gate of Lomondham Lane and knew that his master had taken the short cut home. "He can't have forgotten me," thought Ponto angrily.
But Ronnie, in that moment of fear, had forgotten everything except Aliette. The lane saved a mile and a half, and the lane was all soft turf--good going--the first five furlongs of it straight as a race-course.
Down those first five furlongs Miracle went like a steed possessed106. The turf thudded under his hoofs. The hawthorn-hedges streaked107 past him like snowbanks alongside a train. "Hope to God we don't meet any one at the bend," thought Ronnie, his silk-socked ankles thrust home in the irons, his trousered knees gripping the saddle-flaps, his hands low and his body a little forward.
For now there was no controlling Miracle. The fear of the thoroughbred man on his back had communicated itself in some mysterious way to the thoroughbred horse. He, too, wanted to get home. Grandly he swept the ground from under him. Scarcely, with voice and rein, Ronnie succeeded in checking speed as they tore madly round the bend; scarcely, leaning hard over, he succeeded in keeping his seat.
And then, abruptly, he remembered the tree!
The tree, a great elm, overturned by the gale, was a bare four hundred yards on, just around the next bend, beyond the bridge that arched up like the back of a big red hog15 from the green of the lane.
"Steady, Miracle," called Ronnie, "steady, you old fool. This isn't the National." He was still terribly frightened about Alie; but for himself he had no fear. Even when his horse, head down, neck-muscles arched against the reins108, took the red bridge as though it had been a water-jump, it never struck Ronnie that he wouldn't be able to stop him.
Two hundred yards from the tree, he still intended to pull up. Miracle, with no corn in him, couldn't hold that pace another furlong. Miracle, when he caught sight of those jagged branches blocking the path, would ease up of his own accord. Miracle had never bolted in his life. . . .
But Miracle came round that last bend as though it had been Tattenham Corner; and Miracle's rider, peering between his ears at the forbidding obstacle fifty yards ahead, knew that it would be fatal to try and stop him. As a matter of cold fact, he didn't want to stop the horse. The overturned tree, unlopped, five feet high and eight across, lay between him and Aliette: once over it, five minutes would see them home!
Ronnie took one pull at the reins, sat down in his saddle, grasped Miracle between his knees, sent up one voiceless prayer for safety, flicked109 once with his ashplant, felt the great horse steady himself hocks-under-body, felt his forehand lift, gave him his head--went up, down and over, his shoulders almost touching110 the croup--and landed like a steeple-chase jock to a crackle of twigs111 on the turf beyond.
Then, at long last, the tree fifty yards behind and the highroad half a mile ahead, Miracle answered to the rein. Gradually his pace checked from gallop to hand-canter; from hand-canter to a quick nervous trot that sent the loose stones scudding112 from his hoofs.
"Good lad," said Ronnie, easing as they emerged from lane to highroad. "Good lad," he repeated, as Miracle--scarcely sweating--clattered swiftly through the stable-gateway and stood for dismounting.
For somehow, even as he swung-from saddle, Ronnie knew that Alie's danger was over, so that it hardly needed the returned Driver's cheery grin and cheery words, "It's a boy, sir. Kate's just come out and told us," to reassure113 him.
5
"Sorry I spoofed you about the time," said Hartley, some hour and a half after. "But you were making such an ass8 of yourself that we all thought you'd be better out of the way. You can go up now, if you like. Only don't stay long."
Ronnie, one hand on the newel-post of the staircase, laughed as he answered, "I'm afraid I was a wee bit rattled"; and went up the blue-carpeted treads three at a time.
The door of Alie's room, as though expectant, stood a mite114 open. Through the chink of it shone a primrose115 gleam of light. Alie's husband knocked faintly; and nurse rustled116 to the doorway. "They're asleep," whispered nurse. "You may look at them if you like."
The uniformed woman let him in, closing the door of the room. The cretonne curtains were still drawn across the latticed windows. Candles glowed on the mantelpiece and the dressing-table. But the big bed, toward which Ronnie tiptoed, was in shadow; so that Aliette's hair, braided down either shoulder, showed dark against white pillows and whiter skin.
She slept--the child, his man-child, tiny in the crook of her arm--the ghost of a smile on her breathing lips. Ronnie stood for a long while, gazing down on the pair of them. His blue eyes were bright with thankfulness. His heart thudded, pleasurably, against his ribs117.
"She wouldn't let me take the baby from her," whispered nurse. "You'll go away now, won't you? They mustn't be woken."
But at that, Aliette's eyes opened. Drowsily118, she looked up at him; drowsily, smiling still, she murmured:
"Kiss me before you go, man. I'm so happy, so wonderfully and gloriously happy."
Bending, Ronald Cavendish kissed his wife's warm fluttering eyelids119 and the soft downy head in the crook of her arm.
The End
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lichened
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| adj.长满地衣的，长青苔的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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vet
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| n.兽医，退役军人；vt.检查 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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peg
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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honeymooned
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| 度蜜月（honeymoon的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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23
contentious
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| adj.好辩的，善争吵的 | |
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24
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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26
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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28
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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29
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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30
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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31
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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33
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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35
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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36
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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37
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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38
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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39
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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40
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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41
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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42
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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43
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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44
chivalrously
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| adv.象骑士一样地 | |
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45
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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46
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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47
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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48
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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49
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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50
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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51
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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52
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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53
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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54
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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55
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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56
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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57
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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58
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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59
cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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61
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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62
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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63
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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64
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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67
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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68
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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69
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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70
sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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71
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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72
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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73
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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74
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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75
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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76
hacks
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| 黑客 | |
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77
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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78
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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79
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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80
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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81
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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82
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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83
hogged
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| adj.（船）中拱的，（路）拱曲的 | |
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84
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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85
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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86
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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88
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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89
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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90
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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91
serpentined
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| v.像蛇般蜷曲的，蜿蜒的( serpentine的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
caterpillar
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| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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93
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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94
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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95
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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96
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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97
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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98
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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99
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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100
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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101
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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102
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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103
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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105
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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106
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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107
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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108
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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109
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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110
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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111
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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112
scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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113
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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114
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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115
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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116
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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118
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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119
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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